Don’t Believe Everything You Read
3:14PM, February 28th, 2007
Cast and crew bios are due for the Tick Tick Boom program, and mine is in need of an update. I’m thinking about using this, which was clipped for me during the run of the concert.
While I don’t agree with some of it, at least the price is about right.
Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments
Some Like It Wet
3:18PM, February 27th, 2007
This morning I awoke after about four hours sleep, put on some clothes, ate some cereal and stared glumly out the window as the rain bucketed down precicely where I was to walk to the bus stop. I got to the bus stop, wet, and eventually boarded a bus which became so overcrowded that the bus driver refused to take any more passengers. I got to uni just after 8.30am and attended two shatteringly pointless lectures, while carrying around three huge textbooks in my bag which threatened to release it’s velco monkey grip and send all my expensive books to the muddy ground, taking my right shoulder along for the right.
I shant make this mistake again.
But it’s okay. The day was completely validated when a woman of approximately 50 years of age with bleached blonde hair, dressed in a black, tight jacket and black miniskirt, along with a black shiny police hat (like a dominatrix) walked past a 70 year old man stepping off the bus, as he instinctively performed a Jack Lemmon cross-eyed double take at her rear end. Comedy Gold.
Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments
Not Internationally Ignored
1:02AM, February 24th, 2007
Firstly, thanks to everyone for showing their support after poor Jackson’s passing. Your notes and kind words are so comforting, and I feel some happiness in knowing that you were sweet enough to spare a moment to think of him and his life. I’m still very sad when I think of him, but your messages were relieving.
On an entirely different note, I was fortunate enough to be heading up to Sydney with Greg tonight to see Hedwig And The Angry Inch. Quite simply, it even surpassed Sweeney Todd in pure power. As a fan of the movie and having read the script for the stage version, I was still entirely enthralled and devoured by amazing iOTA’s performance. Everything from his already proven vocals to his movements and acting were perfect. About half way into the intermissionless show (while I love the idea, most shows need a break), I noted how much he was sweating under the wig, make up, lights and costumes, not to mention his endless bouncing around the stage. As he stood, emotionally and physically stripped to sing Midnight Radio to the audience, his body was dripping with sweat. The energy level of his performance could have filled a room dozens of times larger, and I almost felt guilty that he subjected his body to so much torture for the relatively small audience (I guessed about 100-120ish in the audience). It was clear that he would never consider giving any less if the audience had just one person. I would gladly go see it again, just for the luxury of bathing in his performance again.
As an added bonus, I ran into fellow blogger James after the show. James was pre-occupied by his own company, but was kind enough to say ‘Hi’ just as I was about to subject my internal organs to a shock of indian food the likes of which it has not seen for a while. What a lovely atmostphere Oxford Street had of that hour of the evening, and the chance to meet a blogger who’s blog I’ve read for years.
This was the kick-off of a big weekend. Tomorrow I’m on air co-hosting with usual host Kevin and I’ll be talking about Adam Guettel’s song cycle Myths and Hymns, and we’re playing the whole album. Sunday I have first band rehearsal followed (sans guitarist), followed by cast rehearsal for Tick Tick Boom which will occupy all of Sunday. Then low and behold, it’s finally time to go back to uni next week. But ma, I don’t wanna, I’m happy doing what I’m doing, even if it is slightly criminal (but to whom?)…
Posted in Uncategorized | 14 Comments
All Good Dogs…
11:34PM, February 20th, 2007
Shortly after my dad came home from work today I heard him bounce up the stairs. Standing firmly in the middle of my doorway he asked, quickly, “What are you doing?” I had barely opened my mouth when he continued, “Want to help me bury Jackson?” I paused. The conflicting messages weren’t uncommon. My dad was animated with high eyebrows but the words he spoke lacked an underlying confidence. He hid how upset he was with this bouncy exterior.
My dad had come home and discovered my dog of 13 years, Jackson, had died at the base of the stairs where my father exits the garage each day after arriving home. I joined him as we went into the garage to get a shovel and large iron rod used for breaking up clay. I saw Jackson lying as if he were asleep in the shade of the house. My dad leant over to pat him and call him a good boy with the shovel in his hand, as if he was expecting him to wake up and lick his hand.
“It’ll need to be deep,” my dad said as he scouted for a place in the ungrassed, lower part of the yard. With his head down he quickly dug a large whole in the dirt and red and yellow clay. I stood and watched as my dad murmured “… it’s a shame” and “… so sad.” I turned and watched as my dad picked Jackson up from where he was lying and put him in the hole. My dad then apologied to him for the great dishonour he was about to commit and speedily covered the body with the heavy lumps. I took a step backwards so I could only see the black fur of his body being covered and not his head.
I got a plastic bag to put his uneaten food in, emptied the water bowl and took his food bowls into the laundry to wash with hot water and placed his collar on the steps.
Telling my Mother an hour or two later, my dad kept repeating his sentiments and my mother obsessively speculated on how he might have died. In his sleep, or heart attack. Cancer or other ailment. She said she’d call my brother.
I felt uneasy, mostly because I was happy and sad. I was sad that he was no longer bouncing around the backyard, but also because my parents were so focussed on his death. I knew I will remember the way he moved, fetched and licked long after I have forgotten the image of his grave. I will remember his bark, the way he would lick your face when he held him, and even the the times he ran away. I will also remember that he lived for 13 years, was well loved by his family and despite fading vision and hearing in the last year, he was always an active and happy dog. In his death, the memory of his life is stronger.
Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments
The Last 10 Days
10:02PM, February 18th, 2007
Four performances. Three days. Months of rehearsal. A few hundred audience members. All on a desert island inhabited by hungry cannibals.
Except for the last bit (we were fed an abundance of lollies), this signals the end of the concert. As usual, such a delight of fun both backstage and on stage. I got to do a few songs I had done before and a few new ones. I got my name in the program as Musical Director alongside Tim, even though it was he who did most of the work.
The backstage behaviour forms quite an unusual bond; a group of people who meet for the purpose of running through the (hopefully, but not always) same motions each performance, and trying to laugh as much as possible when not on stage.
While last night when I came home to scrape the makeup from my skin (caked on from two shows), it felt like we’d been doing the show for a month, when we finally settled down after the show tonight it felt like we’d stopped just as we got started.
Oh well, no time for post show blues, I have another show to continue work on, a new student to tutor and uni starts back in one week’s time.
Posted in Theatre | 7 Comments
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I would say that the wet sloppy kisses are worth more than $230 alone.
Comment by Kevin — February 28, 2007 @ 8:39 pm
Suited to a physically active family, eh?
Comment by James — February 28, 2007 @ 11:48 pm
Kevin - Prices high in Sydney?
James - That’s the part I protest most of all.
Comment by Tyson — February 28, 2007 @ 11:50 pm
Is Tyson a bitch?
::ba dum dum zing!::
Comment by The Other Andrew — March 1, 2007 @ 10:38 am
The Other Andrew - Catty, much? Don’t worry, I hear your bark is worse than your bite.
Comment by Tyson — March 1, 2007 @ 6:59 pm